Turtles Gibberish
by Okami-chan
Summary: A compilation of random, most of which will be unconnected stories set in TMNT. Currently only 03-verse Ch. 9 - Vocab Drabble. Mikey keeps forgetting what exactly being a Ninja entails.
1. Abandoned Bones

**Title **Abandoned Bones  
**Rating **K+  
**Character **Leonardo  
**Warnings **SAINW-based, isn't that warning enough?  
**Summary **Donatello had left, without a farewell, without a note.  
**Author's Note 1 **Hee, and I did turn this into my 'Turtles Gibberish' fic. The story's marked complete, but only because it's complete till I think of the next one shot. This will be a compilation random, unoconnected stories set in TMNT. I dislike having a clutter of one shots on my page. I don't know why, but I do.. =.=

* * *

Donatello had left.

He had left them all behind; without a farewell, without a note. They didn't know why. No one knew. Leonardo couldn't remember any argument that might have sparked the abrupt departure: nothing that Raphael had said, or Michelangelo had done, or anything that could be blamed on himself.

It had taken a good day before they became concerned. It had taken a week before they grew sick with worry. It had taken a month before their efforts to find him became more and more frantic.

Nobody had seen him, and he couldn't be found in any of his familiar haunts. He never contacted any of them, not even April, or Casey.

Donatello had left, and he had abandoned everything that belonged to him. His life's work remained in the lair: his computer, his notes, his gadgets, his shell cell, even his tech tab had been left behind, as though he had always intended to return.

But he never did.

Donatello had left. They had spent weeks, months, _years_ looking for him. Fruitless years. Years of misery. Years that had torn apart their family. Years that had cost them: Mikey's arm, the war against the Shredder, Casey, and...

Master Splinter.

Leonardo had felt—still felt—that loss keenest of all. Even more keenly than the mysterious disappearance of his brother. No matter what Raph might think.

Donatello had left them, but Leonardo finally found him.

Tucked away in an unused part of the Sewer, hidden under a pile of rubble. How could they have missed this? After all these years of searching, to find him like this. Broken, battered.

Dead.

Donatello had left them, perhaps only to enjoy a run through the sewer, a trip to the junkyard for some part he needed. Thinking he would be back before too long. Thinking he didn't need any of his belongings. That he would return to them.

Someone had found him. Someone had killed him.

There was no need to ponder just who might it have been. The specific individual didn't matter. Leonardo knew who was to blame.

Donatello had left them, and it was the Shredder who had found him. The Shredder who had killed him. Even if that Utrom bastard had never touched him, it was still his fault.

He couldn't bear to tell his brothers. They thought Donatello had left, but that he would return. They couldn't know. They could never know. He would not destroy their hope. They had lost so much, he could not take this away, too.

Donatello had left them, and he would never return. Leonardo fell down to his knees and wept for his lost brother, tears falling uselessly on old, dusty, abandoned bones.

* * *

**Author's End Note**: I wanted to explore what had happened to the SAINW-version of Donatello. No mention was made of Ultimate Drako, so it would seem that it either did not happen in this reality, or Donatello's disappearance happened afterward. Michelangelo had questioned Donatello's sudden reappearance, demanded to know where he'd been. Raphael had been overjoyed—in his own way—had embraced their wayward brother. But Leonardo had seemed the most standoffish. Neither overjoyed, nor angry; he simply didn't believe it. It made me think that he _knew_. Somebody had to know what had happened to Donatello. I wanted somebody to know.

This is also the first thing I've written in a while that made me cry to write it.


	2. Clinging to the Rafters

**Title **Clinging To the Rafters  
**Character **Michelangelo  
**Word Count **592  
**Summary **Mikey's thoughts while hiding.  
**Author's Note **Very random, unexpected ficlet.

Leonardo makes this ninja stuff look easy.

Repeat after me.

Leo. Makes. Ninjutsu. Look. _Easy._

I can guarantee that if he makes something look like a piece of cake, you can just bet your entire comic collection that it's gonna hurt like hell.

Take hanging from ceilings for instance.

First, you aren't just holding on with your hands, but your feet, too. Don't let anyone tell you _that's_ easy. 'Cause clinging to the rafters with your toes can give you mondo foot cramps. Not just that. Donnie's managed to rip out all of his toenails doin' this. Raph's dislocated one of his toes from unexpectedly slipping. Even yours truly, Michelangelo, Battle Nexus Champion, has managed to sprain each of my toes at least once.

Like right now, my feet are killing me! I can already feel the muscles in the arches of my foot slowly tighten like a rubber band stretched too tight.

I don't dare move.

I can hear footsteps coming down the hall.

Can't move. Won't move. No matter how much my foot cramps. Both feet. Owww~!

I tighten my grip on the rafters of our training room, ignoring the (very unpleasant) spasm of pain that sends up my legs.

I can't believe I was stupid enough to agree to a game of ninja hide and seek. But really, there wasn't much else to do. A storm in the area knocked out our power, and rather than do the smart thing and let Donnie go and fix it, Master Splinter suggested that this would serve as a good reminder of where we came from and the times before we had electricity, yadayadayadayada. There went my gaming for the night.

Leo's the one who thought hide and seek would be the perfect thing to do. I bet he wanted to get back at us for all our failtastic training sessions lately. Probably trying to use this as a good example of just why we should be practicing harder or something like that.

Pfft. Whatever.

So, that's why I'm hiding in the training room, clinging to the rafters like a leech. 'Cause when you think 'Mikey' you really don't think 'place where he regularly gets his butt whooped'. I bet Leo's expecting to find me in my room or in the kitchen, or by the entertainment center. Come on, I may not be the brains in the family, but I ain't that dumb. Still would rather be anywhere else than here.

Did I mention that the power's off?

Do you have _any_ idea how _creepy_ the dojo is without even the flicker of a candle (which would actually make things creepier come to think of it).

The door slides open and I hold my breath and scrunch my eyes shut. 'Cause you just know that Leo would pick up on even the tiniest whimper or sigh.

Cramp. Cramp. Cramp. Don't squeak. Don't squeak. Don't squeak.

He must not have seen me cause the door shut and I could hear him walking away.

I let out my breath.

Yes! Go me!

Cramping feet won't hold the Battle Nexus Champion down!

"Knew you were in here."

"Yeeeeeeeeep!" I jumped and let go of the rafter and land headfirst on the floor. Ow! I stare up at Leo standing over me with his damned self-satisified smirk on his face. "How the shell did you do that?? You left!"

Leonardo only laughed at me and went off to look for the others.

Aw shell, and now my head hurts along with my feet. Owowowowowowow!


	3. He's a Little Turtle

**Title **He's a Little Turtle  
**Characters **Michelangelo,Raphael, Splinter  
**Warnings **Mikey'sa bit of a jerk, Raphael uses dirty words  
**Summary **Michelangelo was clearly suicidal. Full of brotherly loooove. :P  
**Author's Note **Something humorous to break from all my fics full of _angst. _FFnet has eaten spaces in my file, it would appear. Hopefully I got them all.

* * *

Michelangelo was clearly suicidal.

There Raphael sat on the worn couch, enjoying the comfort of blowing things sky high on Halo. He wasn't disturbing a soul, hadn't said a single sour word to any one of his family all day. He'd behaved all through practice, and frickin meditation, just so he could have first shot at the tv and game consoles today.

Then his little brother had to go and start singing this dumb little ditty; "He's a little turtle, short and stout! Here's his bandana, here is his belt! When he gets all steamed up here him shout…"

Not once, not twice, not even three times! So far, Raphael had heard that dumb song no less than twelve times in the last _half hour. _And yes, it made it worse, because the annoying little shell-for-brains, _never finished the damned song._ Now it floated around Raphael's brain, like bacteria on Don's petri dish (_disgusting things!_).

Raphael had taken to snarling whenever Michelangelo came near him, punctuating the incomplete song with a 'Shut up, Mikey.'

Michelangelo's sense of preservation surely must have been lacking, as he only laughed and danced out of whacking range. Not even extra emphasis, and throat burning growls seemed to deter him.

Raphael's fingers twitched on the controller as he picked up the near indistinct slap of feet on concrete. His shoulders tensed at his brother's presence behind the couch. Just a little closer...

A three-fingered, green hand popped up beside Raphael's shoulder, fingers pressed together to form a puppet mouth. Then it began to sing; "He's a little turtle, short and stout!"

Not yet. Closer,Mikey.

The hand puppet danced merrily, next to Raphael's cheek. "Here's his bandana!"Tug! "Here is his belt!" More of the arm appeared as fingers wrapped around Raphael's belt and gave a not-so-gentle tug. The orange mask slid into view."When he gets all steamed up hear him shout-"

"_Goddammit, _Mikey! You sing that _fucking _song _one more time,_ and I'm gonna beat your head so far into your shell you'll _shit it out your ass_!" Raphael grabbed at Mikey's arm, intent on rippingit out, perhaps even going so far as to beat him over the head with it, just as he promised.

Zip! Michelangelo laughed at Raphael from halfway across the room. "Oh, come on Raphie! That doesn't even rhyme, I know you can do better than that. Now think of a word that rhymes with belt."

The controller bounced once as it struck the floor, and Raphael leapt over the couchwith an enraged roar.

True to form, Michelangelo screamed like a little girl and ducked and dodged his older brother's grasping hands. The few times that Raphael actually managed to snag his flailing brother, the chucklehead slipped out easier than a bar of soap.

It only made Raphael madder. He lunged, tossing out snarls and obscenities that could make water curl. Michalenagelo continued to evade him, taunting him the whole time; "Dude, that _still _doesn't rhyme? …Aw, c'mon! Donnie's more poetic than that! …Bro, seriously, do we need to go over what rhyming _is?_"

Panting from the exertion, and still not having even left a mark on his younger brother, Raphael could only glare as he caught his breath.

Michelangelo's grin widened for a moment, and he started rocking on his heels to some tune in his head.

Then he started singing again. "He's a little turtle, short and stout!"

Bands of hot anger clenched around Raphael's chest.

"Here's his bandana, here is his snout!"

Raphael gathered his legs under him and charged his little brother with a furious roar.

"When he gets all steamed up here him shout-AHHHH!"

Raphael bowled the other turtle over; "I'm not gonna be listening to that goddamned song day in and day out, Mikey!"

Michelangelo yelped again and pried at Raphael's fingers on his neck. "Gh'ck-Y'rhym'd!"

"RAAAARGH!"

Fortunately forMichelangelo, Master Splinter stepped in before Raphael could really lay the beat down on him. Their venerable sensei set the both of them to a a set of 100 backflips. However since Raphael had been the one that had turned violent first, he'd been assigned extra cleaning duty, effective immediately.

"You should not let your brother's words burrow so deeply into your emotions."

Michelangelo stood behind their master, nodding sagely, showing no sign of having just performed a series of consecutive backflips.

The old rat turned to look at the other turtle. "Perhaps, Michelangelo, you would do well to heed the words of the great sage, Miyamoto Shin,and let sleeping brothers lie."

The younger brother's grin turned into a grimace. "Yes, Master Splinter." His blue eyes cut a quick glance toward Rapahel, and his grin took its proper place on his face again.

Raphael trudged his way over to the kitchen where dishes waited to be washed.

Michelangelo let out a pointed chuckle and made a mad dash for the living area.

Raphael paused at the door, and watched as his younger brother proceeded to take over the television set with one of his own games. Fuming quietly he smacked his fist into the doorjamb. That goddamned, selfish, snotnosed little puke! Mikey set him up so he could play!

* * *

Leonardo and Donatello sat in the living room, one flipping through a well-worn book, and the other with a laptop balanced on his legs. Splinter watched the television, engrossed in his stories. The two turtles had long since learned to tune out the drone of thetelevision when they sat with their Master.

Tuning out the absence of their younger two brothers was another matter entirely.

Leonardo thought they should be concerned as he cast worried glances to the empty spaces on the cushions.

Donatello shrugged off his older brother's worry, and didn't bother to raise his eyes from the screen of his computer.

It had become something of a family tradition to sit with their Sensei during the later parts of the evening, before he turned in for his early bedtime. They tried not to miss it, unless they were caught up in battle, or still recovering from a fight or other injury.

To miss it otherwise, normally resulted in a discussion with Leonardo,who preferred to 'talk' in the dojo, on the mats and sometimes even with weapons in hands.

After all, Splinter wasn't getting any younger, and they should spend as much time with him as possible.

Donatello, however, wondered if it might be better that they weren't present. Michelangelo never knew when to let a joke go, and Raphael could carry a grudge like few men (or turtles for that matter). He was of the opinion that they should enjoy this peace while it lasted, because the explosion was only as close as the next horizon...

STOMPSTOMPSTOMPSTOMPSTOMP

...and apparently not even that far away.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

A stampede of green and orange streaked past the living room sounding suspiciously like a Mikey-in-distress.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" A roaring train of red and green followed shortly after, its passing rattling the tea cups sitting on the table they set up for their Master. There might have been words, but they were drowned out by the sheer pitch of the very Mikey, girly scream.

It faded into the dojo but didn't disappear completely before turning full circle and flying by again.

A trio of sighs filled the short gap of silence before Leonardo saved his cup of tea from rattling itself off the coffee table.

Donatello gripped his laptop to save it from being jostled too harshly by the repeated stampede; "Looks like they're at it again."

Master Splinter serenely took a sip from his cup, as Leonardo hummed; "So it would seem."

Donatello scrolled down on the page he was reading, still not having looked up at either his brother or his father. "You think we should stop them?"

Ears flattened to his head for only a brief moment before their Master composed himself. "I believe we should let them get this out of theirsystem. It has clearly been building all day."

"AHHHHHHH!"

Leonardo took a sip of his tea, never losing his poise as he kept his eyes on the book in his other hand. "If you would like, Master Splinter, I could speak to them."

A brief tilt of his head accepted this. "That would be most appreciated, my son."

"RAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

"I'll make sure they don't disturb your sleep, then, Master."

"I've got hammers in my workshop."

"I shall leave it in your capable hands, my sons."


	4. Vocabulary Drabble 1

Recently did a set of vocabulary-based drabbles. However these are so short (especially the second one!) that I'm just putting them both into one chapter. Story was unimportant, grammar not so concerned with. Just making sure I can use the words right. So no titles for the fics. Enjoy.

**Number One****  
**

"Is everyone okay?"

Raphael missed the replies to Leo's question as his head went under again, for a brief minute. A stroke of his hands and he broke the surface and spitting out a mouthful of foul sewer water. "Oh, yeah. Everything's just hunky fuckin'dory." A pause to catch the edge of the walk way with his uninjured hand. "Think ya can make a bigger explosion next time, Don?"

Donatello's olive hand wrapped around Raphael's wrist. More hands appeared on Raphael's shoulders and shell, and hauled the heaviest turtle out of the water. Shaken and unbalanced by the explosion and resulting fall, they spilled onto their backs, with a loud 'OOMPH'.

Donatello blinked up at Raph, and he grinned unrepentantly. "Look at is this way, at least the Foot can't follow us now."

Raphael and Leonardo both let out long-suffering sighs. Michelangelo did what Mikeys do best. He complained.

"That is so not fair. If I'da said anything like that, you guys would have smacked me. OW! That was _not_ an invitation, Raph!"

"Heh heh."

* * *

**Number Two**

Everyone dropped to the ground at the sudden rataplanning of machine guns. Leonardo cursed his shell. He knew it was sticking up over the vent. FUCK! This had so not been on the program tonight!


	5. Just a Cold

**Title **Just a Cold  
**Characters **Don, Leo  
**Summary** Leonardo gets up for a midnight snack, but hears a sound that detours him into Don's work area.  
**Warnings **Some brotherly affection, take it however you want it. *shifty eyes*  
**Author's Note **Written for Moosandra. She asked for Don/Leo/NT. In the return of Savanti Romero episode, Don sneezed and Leo had a slight spazz attack over it, which I thought kinda weird. Here's an attempt at reasoning why. Also, have no idea if what Don's doing is at all plausible, electronically speaking XD;; This may or may not take place during the pre-Gamera!Don episodes. Leave that up to you. :P

Leonardo opened up the fridge to pull out the half apple he had left from dinner. He bit into it and peered inside for something else to snack on. Hmm, Mikey still had some cookies. He wouldn't miss one or two. He popped both fudge-covered graham cookies into his mouth at once, savoring in the way the chocolate melted on his tongue. He also snagged a bottle of water to take into his room and shut the refrigerator door.

He made his way back down the hallway, but stopped when he heard a soft cough from Don's lab. He stuffed the rest of the apple into his mouth, and detoured into his brother's work area. Leonardo kept his steps silent, mindful of the way his feet moved over the brick and concrete floor. He shivered as he stepped into the room, Don always kept his lab so cold.

Donatello stood at his table, a bundle of wires in his hands, and what looked like the toaster on his table. He picked through the wires with a pair of tweezers, occasionally pulling out one or two and replacing them with some scattered on his table. As he worked he would occasionally cough into his shoulder or arm, and then he'd have to pause to wipe at his nose. Once or twice, while Leo watched, he sneezed.

Leonardo made his way over to stand next to Don at his table. He lay a hand on Don's head, just over the purple bandana. Then he touched his cheek, and then his neck, his shoulder.

"I'll be fine, Leo. It's just a cough."

"Hmm," he replied. Donatello had felt hot to Leo's hands, even in this chill room.

Donatello ignored Leo, his eyes squinted to focus on the wires in his hands.

Leonardo's brow furrowed and a frown pinched the corners of his mouth. Out of them all, Donatello was the least prone to get sick. Of course, they all seemed to have pretty hearty immune systems, or else they would have had trouble surviving in the sewers all these years. Don, however, would often avoid even the normal winter colds (whereas Mikey tended to walk around sniffling all winter long). But when Don did get sick, he usually got very, very sick; sicker than any of the others in their family, normally. And it always started out just like this, with a cough and sneezing.

He turned and left just as quietly as he came. When he returned, he had the comforter off of his brother's bed piled in his arms.

Don coughed again, but didn't pay any attention to Leonardo's approach, still focused on the gadgets in his hand. The blanket settled around his shoulders, and Donatello's head jerked up. He blinked up at Leo, his eyes watery and unfocused; tired. "I said I'll be fine." And he shrugged off the blanket.

Leonardo caught the comforter and pulled it back over his brother's shoulders. He leaned close to give Don a hug, and nuzzle at his earhole just behind his jaw. "You always say that until you're throwing up all over the place."

Don turned his head and gave Leo a lopsided smile. He craned his neck around to return the nuzzle, but stopped as a cough seized him.

Leo's brow creased with worry, and he squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Come to bed. We'll live without toast for one day," he said, once Don had finally stopped coughing.

Donatello smiled, sheepish and embarrassed from his coughing fit. "You sure? You know how Mikey gets when he can't make whatever insane meal he wants." But he set the wires and the tweezers down and stood at Leo's insistent tugs on his arm.

Leonardo supported his brother, with one arm around his shell and the other on his arm. "Well, if he whines at you, just ask Raph to whap him for you. I'm sure Raph wouldn't mind." He smiled at Don's chuckle. He was glad he'd gotten up for a midnight snack. Don looked absolutely horrible.


	6. Worst Comic Run EVAR!

**Title **Worst Comic Run EVAR!11!  
**Characters **Mikey, Hun  
**Summary **Exactly how did this happen again?  
**Author's Note **Written for Aloneindarkness7. She asked for Hun/Mikey/How the shell did we wind up here. Uh, this kinda got outta control and totally fell away from the prompt. Might be there in spirit.

* * *

Worst comic run evar! Someone needed to tell those Purple Dragon boneheads that you do not mess with a turtle when he's getting his comics.

Michelangelo tucked the comic under his arm and swung up onto the closest fire escape.

It just wasn't even fair! Mikey hadn't been doing anything wrong. He'd just gone to get his comics (passing himself off as a turtle titan fan in costume), and there Hun was at _his_ comic shop. So Mikey had ninja'd the issue he wanted off the shelf, ninja'd the payment onto the counter and then gotten the hell out of dodge.

The next thing he knew he had a roaring freight train that went by the names of 'Fatso', 'Lardbutt', or 'Tubby' depending on who you talked to. Then his buddies decided to join the chase. And that's when Mikey decided that escape was indeed the better part of valor (not that he'd been lacking in turning of the tail and hauling shell, but this time made it top of his list of things to do today!).

Hun-train roared behind him, and shook the fire escape with his weight. So Mikey made a mad dash into a darkened window and scurried out of the room as soon as his feet touched the floor. Hun probably shouldn't be able to fit through that window, much less follow-

A roar and the shattering of wood and concrete cut off Mikey's hopeful line of thought. He yelped and quickened his step down the hall. Stairs stairs stairs. He kicked open an interior stairwell door and stopped to decide which way to go. Up or down. Purple Dragons flowing into the bottom flight of stairs decided Mikey.

Up he went, fairly flying up the stairs. He hit the top of the stairwell and burst through the door.

Right into the middle of yet another pack of Purple Dragons? What the shell! Were they _stalking_ him? How did they get up here? Mikey skittered back through the stairwell door and jumped down to the next level, slapping at hands that grabbed at him. He kicked the door on that landing open and plunged out of the stairwell.

He skidded to a stop as he came out on a hallway lined with several doors on either side. Crap crap crap. Now which way should he go? He could hear them coming up and down the stairway.

Well, let's see what's behind door number, um, three. Michelangelo twisted the door handle, happy to find it unlocked. He opened the door to an empty office. No one inside. Woot! Window!

Before he could even head over to it though he suddenly had Hun filling the doorway. He screamed and slammed the door shut on the giant gang leader. Hun would be through before he could get a good look at the window. He glanced around the room, eager for something he could use to barricade the door. Nothing.

But, another door? Ha!

A fist went through the door behind Michelangelo, spurring him to action. He yelped and dashed over to the other door, hoping it didn't just lead to a closet. It didn't, it opened up to another room. And there was a door. Led back into the hallway. But hey, element of surprise!

He burst through the door with a wild cry and leapt on top of the mass that seethed outside the door. Hun hollered for everyone to get that freak.

Mikey figured that Hun should be lucky it wasn't Raph they were chasing through an abandoned building. Raph _hated _being called a freak (not that any of them particularly _liked_ it, but Raph in particular took it the worst).

"Dudes, I know I'm popular. But please! No autographs till after 6. I gotta schedule to keep!" He kicked one of the dragons in the face even as he used him as a stepping stool.

He barreled into room across the hall and kicked the door shut behind him. Oh shell, no windows in this room. He needed to get past those stupid Dragons again and-

Hey, look door!

He kicked it open, and followed it into the next room. Ring-a-round of turtles! Why the shell were they even chasing him? Couldn't a guy go to the comic book store without getting pulled into a battle? Seriously!

Mikey paused to get a breath, casting about the room for some other way out. Look up at the ceiling, but he didn't trust those boards to support his weight. If he put his weight on the beams... No time! Purple dragons had come a knockin' again!

He jumped up and knocked the tile out of place even as he grabbed a hold of the beam and pulled himself up. He didn't have time to worry about kicking it back into place, but immediately crawled across the creaking ceiling boards.

Unfortunately, he didn't get very far before a fist exploded through the tile behind him. He bit back on a startled yelp and instead, scurried over to the partition between the rooms even faster.

Not fast enough, however, as a big hamfist smashed through the ceiling tile just on his left and clamped onto his thigh.

He let out one 'Oh shell!' before the man dragged him down. He let out one scream and squirmed out of the meaty hold, a feat that had always amazed his brothers. He kicked the massive jaw, but couldn't quite avoid the other fist that came down at him. It slammed into his plastron, not quite mashing the breath out of his lungs. He groaned theatrically, but grabbed hold of the man's wrist and twisted his body about to throw his foot into the Hun's gut. It was like hitting an iron plate, but he ignored the pain and leapt away.

He pulled out one of his nunchacku and smacked away the purple dragons that tried to stop him. He shouted and catcalled as he made his way back to the other room.

Empty! Yes! Suckers!

Michelangelo dashed to the window, and had only just slid it open when his ninja senses kicked in and he whipped around, nunchaku out.

Hun glared, one of his hands rubbing at his abdomen (he felt the kick?). "You _freak_. What the hell makes you think you can just walk away with that book? I've been looking all over for it."

Bwah? "The wha?" He waved the comic in one hand, eyes wide, breath coming in short gasps. "You want- you want the book? You did all this so you could get a comic book? You're kidding right?"

Hun's face twisted in a snarl. "That's none of your damned business."

"Dude, I totally got this first. Fair and square!"

The beady little eyes narrowed. "Who cares about being fair to a freak like you?"

"Well, that's my cue to go."

"Wait!" The turtle paused in wrenching the window up. He turned, surprised to see desperation on the man's face. He even had one hand held out in a placating manner. "It's-It's for my nephew."

Mikey didn't think he heard that quite right. He could only stare stupidly for a moment before he finally went, "Huh?"

Did his eyes actually tear? "My nephew. He's in the hospital, and has been asking me to find that one comic for him."

Mikey tightened his hold on the comic, but swayed as the big man seemed on the verge of blubbering. Aw, come on. You've got to be kidding! He'd been looking for this comic for months! And besides, who's to say that its wasn't just a trick. Though why would _Hun_ wanna lie about something like comic books. Okay yeah, it wasn't like Mikey wouldn't have done something similar had situations been reversed. But come on, this was freakin' Hun of the Purple Dragons! There was no possible way this guy could be at all interested in _comic books_. That was just crazy!

But that left only one other option. It meant he was telling the truth. Dammit. And could Turtle Titan really deny a little boy a comic book like that? What kind of superhero would he be, then?

ARGH!

He thrust his hand out, eyes clenched shut so that he wouldn't have to see it when Hun took the flimsy package from his hands.

"Sucker."

And then Hun promptly shoved him out the window.

Well, damn. Don't that just beat all.


	7. Devotion

**Title** Devotion  
**Characters** Mikey,Splinter but characters are really irrelevant  
**Summary** The love of sons...  
**Author's Note** This was yet another vocabulary 'drabble' (as I use that term loosely in this 500+ word fic). This time I used more than one word. Grammar isn't important, but characterization and vocabulary is. Please feel free to point out any misuse of words. Thanks.

* * *

Undo one side, roll Sensei over, and undo the other, than carefully work them out from under his father. More rolling his Sensei around to replace the old with the new, as the old rat could barely move on his own. Michelangelo handled them with all the reverence they deserved; held out away from his body, bundled up in a ball of fabric. He stepped out of the stinking room, and took a breath of the—only slightly—cleaner sewer air that pervaded the lair. A nod at Leo, as his brother headed into the room to sit with Master Splinter, even though the black eyes no longer recognized them, and he couldn't even talk half the time; reduced to the chitterings and squeaks of his kin. The imago of their invulnerable father shattered by the reality of his dementia. None of them really liked to think about—much less talk about—the way their Sensei was deteriorating in both mind and body. How their once strong and capable father couldn't even manage the simplest of everyday functions without one of them assisting. They hated to see it when the mutant who had taken them in for no real, apparent reason, became racked with convulsions; jactations that would send his frail body to the ground, and would leave him gasping and spent, his weak heart fluttering in his chest. They hated how he appeared to have sunk into himself, leaving his fur quaggy, despite the sinew they knew lay beneath.

It was obscene; a burlesque parody of a proud personage that had opened his home and heart to four baby turtles that would probably have made better snacks than sons. (And, oh how that sent a shiver down Michelangelo's shell)

Yet they couldn't bear the thought of ending his obvious misery themselves.

So, Donatello wandered the internet, trying to find ways to ease their father's suffering. Raphael spent his time away from the lair, so he wouldn't have to smell the encroaching death, oftentimes bringing home the medicine that Donatello sought. Michelangelo tended to Sensei's physical comfort, feeding him, changing his bedsheet, or the cloth wrapped around his waist. Leonardo sat with him; in meditation, or reading in silence, or even aloud.

Because there were times when the thin fingers would grasp their hand, and the watery black eyes would _focus_ on them, and he would wheeze one of their names. When he would thank them, and say how proud he was to have such good sons. And though the pain must be terrible, he never asked for them to end it.

Now their world revolved around him, as his must have around them at one time. Though they would leave, feeling the desperate need to have see the sky, or friends, or to play endless video games, always they would return, and never would they leave all at once. He had set them on the path of life, and it seemed only fitting that they would be there as he wended his way toward death.

Michelangelo immediately set about washing the soiled sheets and cloth. They would be needed before everyone went to bed.


	8. Vocabulary Drabble 2

**Vocabulary Drabble Number 3**

Donatello loved getting books. He really didn't care if they were used and worn. Actually he preferred them that way, torn pages and all. He loved flipping through a book and finding the pages bent to mark a place and then reading to see if he could find what was so important about that page. He imagined that it gave him a glimpse into the last owner's mind. But most of all, he loved to find scribbled marginalia as the person tried to make the text comprehensible to themselves. Or sometimes the doodles drawn in moments of idleness, letting the hand wander while the eyes devoured the words on the page. The writing of the id.


	9. First Kiss

**Title **First Kiss  
**Pairing **Mikey/Angel  
**Summary **See pairing, see title  
**Warning **If it isn't obvious, human/turtle  
**Author's Note **A vocabulary drabble. This can also fit in with my Broken Weekend verse. I need to do more with these two. Sigh.

* * *

Michaelangelo leaned forward, determined to remember everything about this moment. The rough concrete under his hands and legs, the way his calluses caught on her clothes. The feel of her hair on the back of his fingers. The smell of the minty gum she'd been chewing.

It wasn't like this was the first time he'd kissed her. He'd kissed her several times: Christmases past when he caught her under the mistletoe, a birthday peck on her cheek (or lips, if Leo or Raph were looking-Don was no fun to tease since he had that silly crush on April). However, this was the first time he'd kiss her as a boyfriend, more than just a brief brush of lips on skin.

He had a brief moment of panic; terrified that he would mess it up somehow, or worse embarrass himself beyond all hope of redemption. He had absolutely zero experience with this, and Angel, well he knew she'd had boyfriends (several) through the few years he'd known her, and who knows how many before. She'd probably kissed all of them (definitely, he'd seen her, once, snogging one on her fire escape). But he'd never had more than a Christmas or birthday peck. He wasn't even sure what he was supposed to do: with his mouth, or where to keep his hands, he didn't want to grope her and make her hate him (as much as he itched to touch her cheek).

The first touch was uncertain, clumsy; lips and snout never having been meant to meet in such a fashion. But the ambrosial sensations prompted more, until Michaelangelo couldn't really keep track of everything that was happening. He only knew that when it stopped, it left him bereft and breathless (a feat for one who takes nightly runs), heady with her smell and taste.

He opened his eyes and she smiled and leaned in again.

Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all.


	10. Rue Yourself Dude

**Title **Rue Yourself, Dude!  
**Characters **Four Turtles and a passing shot by the Shredhead  
**Summary** _Has_ Shredder ever gotten a whiff of himself? I do wonder. All that tin, i mean.  
**Author's Note** Summary has nothing to do with the fic really. I mean, really, how does one summarize a vocabulary drabble? And yes, I'm still around. Just lurking. A lot.

* * *

The Shredder shook his fist at the turtles. "You shall rue the day you ever crossed me, you green freaks!" Then he turned and disappeared over the edge of the roof.

Michaelangelo hollered back, "Rue yourself, dude! Have you ever gotten a whiff of yourself. I mean peee YOW!" The last came in a sharp cry as his head jerked forward courtesy of a swipe of Raphael's hand.

"What part of _ninja_ doesn't click in that hole you call your brain?"

Leonardo snorted as he helped Donatello move. "What part _does_ he get?"

Donatello laughed, " Be easier to explain astrophysics to a 2 year old," before he dropped into the manhole.

Michaelangelo huffed after his brothers as they disappeared one by one. "It's not my fault that I'm easily excitable."

Raphael couldn't resist poking his head out for one last taunt. "And stupid?"

"Yeah! Wai-HEY!"


End file.
